


5 Times Stiles and Derek were Dating, and One Time They Realized

by eqyptiangold



Series: A Collection of Sterek One Shots [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Recreational Wolfsbane Use, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21840919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eqyptiangold/pseuds/eqyptiangold
Summary: Derek is sitting on the couch when Stiles shuffles into the dorm room. He heaves out a dramatic sigh just in case his XL sweatpants and XXL hoodie, accompanied by the slouch bordering on ninety-degree angle that his spine has taken on, doesn’t adequately convey the message. Just to ensure his exhaustion and heavy workload is truly received, Stiles drops his thick backpack to the ground and stares at Derek sharply as it thunks loudly.Slowly, Derek canvassases his gaze from Stiles’ face, down to the backpack, and back up. “Hi, baby,” the werewolf greets, his voice dripping with the strange mix of irony, fondness, and casualness that clings to every pet name used between them.Stiles stares thoughtfully at his dorm mate’s pretty, pretty face before eventually deciding that even those eyebrows and jawline aren’t enough to make up for his five thousand word essay due tomorrow, along with the seventy pages of reading. He whines loudly and pouts, dropping onto the couch with his head on Derek’s shoulder. “You’re rich, right?”Derek snorts softly. “I’m not paying for someone to write your essay.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: A Collection of Sterek One Shots [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1243292
Comments: 16
Kudos: 953





	5 Times Stiles and Derek were Dating, and One Time They Realized

**One**

Stiles and Derek have always been close. It was bound to happen. Blind luck had placed them together in their dorm room, two random college freshman both hailing from Beacon Hills. One night of heavy drinking and giggly, drunken bonding later, they were basically friends for life. After Stiles spent two hours clinging to Derek in an unfamiliar bathtub while the pair sang showtunes, there wasn’t any splitting up. 

Now, a year and many, many more drunken bonding moments later, the boundaries between them have essentially been decimated. 

Derek is sitting on the couch when Stiles shuffles into the dorm room. He heaves out a dramatic sigh just in case his XL sweatpants and XXL hoodie, accompanied by the slouch bordering on ninety-degree angle that his spine has taken on, doesn’t adequately convey the message. Just to adequately ensure his exhaustion and heavy workload is truly received, Stiles drops his thick backpack to the ground and stares at Derek sharply as it thunks loudly. 

Slowly, Derek canvassases his gaze from Stiles’ face, down to the backpack, and back up. “Hi, baby,” the werewolf greets, his voice dripping with the strange mix of irony, fondness, and casualness that clings to every pet name used between them. 

Stiles stares thoughtfully at his dorm mate’s pretty,  _ pretty _ face before eventually deciding that even those eyebrows and jawline aren’t enough to make up for his five thousand word essay due tomorrow, along with seventy pages of reading. He whines loudly and pouts, dropping onto the couch with his head on Derek’s shoulder. “You’re rich, right?” 

Derek snorts softly. “I’m not paying for someone to write your essay.” 

“Fuck,” Stiles grumbles, scrambling around on the couch until he finds a comfortable spot in his best friend’s lap. He buries his neck in Derek’s neck, knees bent up and pressed against the ‘wolf’s chest, and Stiles’ skinny arms wrapped around his neck. “I’m distraught,” he announces. “Cuddle me.” 

“Only for a bit,” Derek replies easily. “Then we’ll go to the library.” Stiles’ heart flutters fondly, even as he lets out a longsuffering groan. 

“Why must you care about me, my darling Derek? Just let me self-destruct in a Cheeto-dust infested peace,” he complains. Conversely to his words, Stiles tightly winds himself around Derek as a long-practiced signal to have Derek carry him to their bed. In order to make room for the small couch against one wall, the duo had pressed their beds together to create one “super bed.” 

“Shut up,” Derek retorts, voice soft and sleepy as he curls around Stiles on their beds. 

“Love you, man.” Stiles presses his face into the werewolf’s neck and snuffles fondly. 

* * *

**Two**

Stiles is half-asleep with his head on Derek’s shoulder when Cora tosses a fry at him. He jerks violently, banging his leg against the cafeteria table. “Wha’th f’ck?” he slurs, absently rubbing his sore knee. Almost instinctively, Derek wraps his warm palm around Stiles’ leg to draw out the pain. 

“I’m trying to invite you two to the party in my dorm hall tonight,” Cora huffs, tossing another fry that Stiles catches in his mouth. “Derek is too busy staring at you all fondly to listen.” Derek doesn’t even bother to defend himself, choosing to steal his sister’s fries instead. He feeds one to Stiles, and the younger man absently lands a playful bite on Derek’s index finger. 

“Yeah, sure,” Derek agrees, finally turning his gaze to Cora even as he bops Stiles on the nose. After enough drunken ramblings, Stiles knows just how many feelings Derek has about said nose--all generally boiling down to  _ cutecutecute _ . “John is Skyping, though, so we’ll be later than usual, probably. He’s working late shift.” Stiles nods along, pouting at the thought of his dad’s current work schedule. Late nights tended to lead to excuses for a bacon cheeseburger. Derek pats his shoulder soothingly; even though he’s a werewolf, immune to high cholesterol, Derek is well-aware of the ongoing food battle between Stiles and his dad. 

“John?” Cora repeats sceptically. She spares a thoughtful glance at her fries, seemingly tempted to steal them back. 

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Derek elaborates. Catching the look, he’s quick to feed Stiles a few more of the delightfully salty fries. 

“So… Stiles’ dad is Skyping.” Stiles nods his confirmation at Cora. “And… Derek knows about this, and what shift he’s working.” Another nod. “And  _ both _ of you will be late. Because  _ Stiles’ _ dad is calling.” Stiles spares a confused glance in his dorm mate’s direction, but Derek looks equally as befuddled. Slowly, they both nod. “Right. Of course,” Cora says, voice wry and mildly put off. She snatches her fries back and stands with a huff. “I lost a hundred bucks to Laura, y’know, because you two are still so stubbornly in the friend-zone.” Although she sounds annoyed, Stiles has learned to recognize the fond exasperation behind those Hale eyebrows. It helps that he can’t be too hurt when he’s not even all that sure what exactly Cora is saying. The friend-zone? With who? Neither he nor Derek are dating anyone right now, so he’s not sure who would be friend-zoning both of them. 

“Huh?” Derek mutters as his sister strides away. 

“Dunno, man.” Stiles looks hopefully at the chocolate pudding left on Derek’s tray of food. “You gonna eat that?” 

“I got it for you, dumbass.” 

* * *

**Three**

When Scott pounds on the door, Stiles is hopping around the dorm and fighting to yank his extra tight jeans up past his ass, while Derek watches lazily from their bed. “I got it,” the werewolf says easily. With a gracefulness that Stiles—still hopping around only half-clothed with his burger-printed boxers on display—could never achieve, Derek slides off the bed and heads for the locked door. At some point, their dorm hall had silently agreed on an “open-unless-locked” door policy. Far too many of the people they shared their hall with have already seen Stiles’ varied collection of boxers. 

Stiles lies down on the couch and kicks his legs up against the wall in a new attempt at fitting into his jeans. Meanwhile, Derek releases the lock and Scott spills into the room. 

Just as Scott opens his mouth to ask, Stiles finally gets the jeans up to his waist. “Fuck, yeah!” he cheers instinctually. The momentum carries him down the couch and onto the floor, but the crash can’t take away from his victory. “Hi, Scotty,” he tacks on, scrambling to his feet and buttoning up the jeans. 

“Hey, dude. Hey, Der.” Scott lazily smacks palms with Derek and catches his fingers for a moment, bumping shoulders. Stiles watches the display with an absent consideration that somewhere between high school and college, he and Scott had properly assimilated into the heavy population of frat boys and “bro’s” at their college. His thoughts are only reinforced when Scott speaks up again. “Kira invited us to a party at the Deke house tonight,” he says, referencing one of the frat houses. 

Stiles makes a face. “Greek Row?” he says, pouting. “I thought were going to the thing at Der’s friend’s dorm.” Wherever Derek was invited, Stiles was too. 

“Come on,” Scott whines. He makes puppy dog eyes and clasps his hands hopefully. “Please? I’ll be tripsitter so you guys can get as fucked as you want,” he bargains, turning attention to Derek. Recently, Cora introduced Derek to her dealer that exclusively works with weed specially grown to get even werewolves high. Ever since, Derek’s been acting a bit like Stiles had freshman year—the freedom to get high without fear of the sheriff catching him had inspired a few weeks of extreme partying. Stiles has been enjoying it, though; Derek is kind of adorable when he’s high, although the special werewolf weed still merits a tripsitter. 

“We won’t be missed at the other party,” Derek says easily, slinging a casual arm around Stiles’ shoulder. 

“You would sell your soul for a blunt,” Stiles huffs. He still turns to wrap his arms around the muscular werewolf’s waist, though. “Fine. You have to protect me from the big, bad frat boys, though.” Derek rolls his eyes and shoves Stiles away, only to catch him around the hip and scoop Stiles into his arms. 

“Come on, princess.” 

Stiles opens his mouth to protest, maybe defend his right to walk like a big boy, but holds back at the last moment. Derek is pretty comfortable, if he’s being honest. 

* * *

**Four**

When Stiles wakes up, long arms wrapped tightly around Derek’s head and legs around his thigh, it’s not with the usual dramatic stretching and groaning and yawning. Even in the early exhaustion of the morning, Stiles can feel it in the air. Somehow, the dorm room feels quieter, less brilliant and vibrant than the rest of the year. 

Slowly, gentler than his usual violent rolling around under tangled sheets, Stiles crawls on top of his best friend and pets Derek’s hair. Derek sleepily blinks his eyes open; he doesn’t look happy, but he looks… relieved, maybe, that Stiles is there. The anniversary of the fire is always hard. Even though Stiles has only known Derek for just over a year, Stiles has experienced the anniversary of his mom’s death every year and he and Derek have exchanged enough teary late night conversations for Stiles to know how the werewolf feels. 

“G’morning.” Stiles kisses Derek’s forehead, brushes a hand across his cheek. “D’you want breakfast? I’ll go make waffles, and you can work out in here if you want,” he suggests. This is just how Derek copes; where Stiles likes cuddles and attention, Derek likes to workout until he’s shaking from exhaustion. Cuddles and attention come after that for him. 

Stiles can  _ see _ the raw affection fill his eyes. Quietly, Derek lifts his arms and pulls Stiles into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers softly. 

“Love you, Der.” Stiles nuzzles gently at his neck. After a moment, Derek gently disconnects them with a casual brush of his hand across Stiles’ neck. It’s strange how quickly Stiles became used to scent-marking, going so far as to do it himself even though his measly human nose can’t tell the difference. 

“Love you too, man.” The dorm mates lazily bump fists and Stiles crawls off the bed, donning a pair of Derek’s soft sweatpants over his sushi-print boxers. “Is Cora coming by later?” 

Derek shakes his head, already clad in gym shorts and dropping into a push-up position. “She’s going to class. Likes keeping busy,” he explains, glancing up just long enough to catch a glimpse of Stiles hanging off the doorframe with the tip of his tongue between his teeth. Both Derek and Stiles took the day off from classes with carefully polite emails to their respective professors. 

“I’m off to Gordan Ramsey this bitch up,” Stiles says, feigning a smooth flip with an invisible pan. At the last minute, he grabs his phone just in case Derek wants him back in the dorm and doesn’t want to venture out himself. It’s happened before; sometimes, when Derek is particularly stressed or lost in thoughts of the fire, he’ll grab Stiles and Cora and want to keep them cuddled up in a blanket nest in the dorm. Stiles has mastered the art of typing with one hand and petting the werewolf’s hair with the other. 

Once in the dorm kitchen, Stiles cooks quickly and efficiently. He knows just how Derek takes his eggs and coffee, knows just how brown he should cook the waffles to, knows the preferred syrup to butter ratio. Stacking both his breakfast and Derek’s onto a cooking board turned carrying tray, Stiles returns to their dorm room with the scent of butter wafting along. 

“Hey, dear,” he greets, dropping the tray on their bed. Derek is on the floor, skin damp with sweat, in the midst of his current set of sit-ups. His eyes are burning a vibrant blue, but Stiles knows it’s just due to the turmoil of emotion and physical strain. “Waffles?” Derek slows to a halt and his eyes dart up to Stiles. Slowly, the blue bleeds back into the familiar grey-green. 

* * *

**Five**

Derek is smoking a joint when Stiles enters their dorm with a groan, dropping his backpack to hear the resounding thump. “My brain hurts,” Stiles announces, hands flying to the zipper on his jeans. He shoves them down his legs and kicks them off in the general direction of his and Derek’s shared hamper. 

“Wan’ smoke with me?” Derek hums, voice slow and smooth like melting ice cream. 

Stiles shakes his head with a groan. “Ran out of normal human weed yesterday.” He huffs loudly and throws himself onto the couch; Derek is seated in a comfortable sprawl, allowing plenty of room for Stiles to rest his head on the muscular upper thigh. “Whatcha watching?” He glances up at the cheap TV they saved up for and placed in the tiny space between their bed and couch. 

“I was thinking about watching porn,” Derek reveals easily, dropping one hand to pet Stiles’ hair. 

Stiles moans as if he’s already jerking off. “God, yes.” He snatches up the remote and turns it to the television, expertly opening the file holding their favourite videos. “Lemme know if you see anything.” Slowly, Stiles slides down through the list until Derek hums thoughtfully. It’s a long video, featuring two guys and a collection of toys that the bigger guy uses on the thinner one until he’s sobbing. It’s one of Stiles and Derek’s favourites. 

It’s all very normal, college bro-type stuff, Stiles reasons. He’s too busy worrying about the sixty pages of reading and three assignments he has due to worry about their proximity at any given moment. As the video starts, Stiles adjusts and settles in more comfortably--if he can feel Derek’s dick chubbing up beneath his head as the video progresses, well. They’re just really close friends, that’s all. No big deal. 

When the bottom in the video throws his head back and moans, long and whimpery, Stiles finally pulls his dick out of his pants. He wraps his hands firmly around himself, thumbing gently beneath the head, and a thready, pleased moan falls from his mouth. A few minutes pass in that manner: Stiles jerking himself slowly, his head resting on Derek’s clothed hard-on. 

If Derek murmurs “Faster,” in that deep, vaguely aroused tone, and Stiles complies instantly, well. They’re just guys being dudes. Stiles’ toes curl and he digs them into the couch, arching his back as he moans, loud and unhindered. 

“Fuck, oh, uh, that’s so good,” Stiles mumbles, shutting his eyes and leaning his head back to expose the pretty pale length of his neck. 

“Stop.” Derek murmurs suddenly. Even as Stiles pulls his own hand away, he whines plaintively. This happens, sometimes. Derek gets Stiles to edge himself, and each time Stiles listens obediently. Maybe it’s because he likes that satisfied, aroused glint in Derek’s eyes whenever Stiles whimpers in response. 

Whatever, though. Really, they’re just close friends. 

Eventually, after Derek has quietly murmured “Stop… go… faster… stop,” until Stiles is shaking with the need to come, Derek says, “Keep going.” 

“I’m-” Stiles stutters. “M’gonna come.” Derek only hums agreeably. “Oh, fuck, yes, I can come? Yes, yes, yes, oh fuck fuck.” Stiles jerks himself quick and dirty, thumbing the head on each upstroke. When he comes, it’s with a groan and a final, violent buck of his hips. Cum hits his shirt and Stiles is too busy panting and gently rubbing himself through the aftershocks to care. 

“Pretty,” Derek mumbles. 

Stiles smiles sweetly. He pulls his shirt over his head and drops the soiled fabric to the floor. “C’mere.” Stiles makes grabby hands at Derek, slow and orgasm-sated. Agreebly, Derek crawls over top of him carefully and drops onto the lankier man’s chest. His hard-on presses into the Stiles’ hip, prompting a small, pleased hum from Derek. Fondly, Stiles wraps his limbs around Derek and mouths at the werewolf’s neck. 

Meanwhile, Derek slowly begins rutting against Stiles’ hip, groaning quietly into the couch. “Yeah,” Stiles murmurs, resting his hands on his best friend’s still-clothed ass and pressing him closer. “Wan’to take your jeans off?” 

Derek moans softly. “Fuck.” Before he can reply, he’s coming into his jeans with a long groan muffled against the side of Stiles’ head. 

“Derek, god, you’re so hot,” Stiles murmurs without thinking. His hands fumble as he unbuttons the werewolf’s jeans, pressing his hand into Derek’s jeans to gently jerk him through the aftershocks. 

“ _ Stiles _ ,” Derek pants, voice weak and lush with reverence. 

Really. They’re just bros. 

* * *

**+Six**

When Stiles comes home to his and Derek’s dorm, the lights are off. Candles are strewn around the room, pretty orange lights licking the wall. “This is pretty,” Stiles comments, a small grin spreading across his features. “Is there an occasion?” He looks around, appreciating the way the candlelight tricks the eye into thinking their ugly wooden furniture is cute. 

“Can’t I just treat you to something nice?” Derek protests lightly, gesturing at the tablecloth-clad table carefully placed in front of the couch. A fucking  _ delicious _ looking pasta is sitting in the middle, accompanied by bread rolls that have Stiles salivating a bit. “Also the power is out in half the dorm rooms.” 

Stiles snorts loudly. “There it is. Still, this is very cute. I’ve never been on a proper candlelit dinner.” Grinning, Derek steps carefully around the table and tugs Stiles into a sweet hug. “You gonna sweetly lay me down and take my virginity after?” Stiles curls his arm around the back of Derek’s fluffy hair and toys with the soft strands. 

“Only if you buy me a promise ring first.” A sleepy, playful grin lights up Derek’s features, and he slides one hand down to Stiles’ thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist. They curl around one another, somewhere between continuing the “cute first high school relationship” joke and just cuddling the way they normally do. Stiles absently registers how natural it is to prop his foot up on Derek’s ass and curl into the curve of his body. 

“Why aren’t we dating?” Stiles asks suddenly. 

Derek blinks. “Dunno,” he says eventually. 

“Should I kiss you?” Stiles leans back far enough to make eye contact, his hands absently groping the werewolf’s muscles. 

Derek’s hand slides up Stiles’s thigh until it hits his ass. “Yeah,” he replies, and they press in close. The kiss is slow and gentle, sweet enough to make Stiles’ chest hurt in a way that’s fucking  _ incredible _ . 

Stiles loves Derek, he realizes. He’s so fucking in love. 

They do end up making love that night, and Stiles turns a Twizzler into a promise ring for Derek. 

  
  



End file.
